Change of Heart
by Callista Curnow
Summary: Agron struggles with the loss of his brother. Nasir struggles with his new found freedom. When two broken hearts come together will they find comfort, or only more pain?


I have a notoriously lazy muse, but I recently finished the most recent season of Spartacus I found myself inspired by the relationship between Agron and Nasir. So here's my little contribution, it's a WIP that I have at least 2 more chapters for planned out in my head and possibly more depending on where the mood takes me.

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Troubled Dreams in Troubled Times

The dream visited Agron most nights. At first it was as memory. Batiatus' Gladiators arranged in a row, silent sentinels over the Roman revelry before them. The light of candles reflected off polished gold and marble bathing everything in a strange orange glow. The scented oils that coated his body and that of his Brothers so thick he thought it might suffocate and the pounding drums threatened with aching head. Romans approached, fingers eager to touch the flesh of a Gladiator. They caressed as they would a fine sculpture, appreciating it's lines and form. He supposed he should be flattered, but instead he felt only disgust. The only thing that made it bearable was his brother, Duro, by his side. Under breath they exchange jest which threatened stoic pose. More than once he had to crush a smile as it crept onto his face, hoping Batiatus did not take note. Time shifted the way it only did in dreams, the crowd was gathered for an exhibition and with every Roman eye on Varro and Spartacus. The rest of the Gladiators relaxed pose and watched with open interest as the fighting began. Aching head improved as the pounding Roman music was replaced with the clanging of swords. The contest ended with Varro on his knees, Spartacus' sword at his throat. Both wore wide grins, a match well fought with a Brother well loved. A moment shattered at the proclamation of the sniveling boy. No mercy given. Then it was him standing in Spartacus' place holding his sword to Duro's throat instead.

"I cannot," he gasped. The rasp of guards drawing swords echoed through the room.

"You must," Duro said gazing up at him, "They will only kill us both."

"The I die gladly," Agron replied, pulling sword back.

Duro grasped the blade in hand with barely a flinch and drove the point into the side of his neck. Agron jerked the sword free and toss it aside as if it were a venomous viper. It hit the ground and steel assumed form of a serpent which slithered away into the crowd of Romans, their faces beginning to melt. Opulent surroundings faded to the sandy training grounds of the Ludus, the screams of dying Romans emanating from the Villa. He fell to his knees cradling his Brother's head against his chest.

"I save you this time, Brother," Duro said beaming up at him, pride shone in his eyes briefly before light fled them like a candle extinguished. Agron threw his head back and added his own pained howl to the cacophony.

Dream touched memory so closely Agron shot up from his bed, his own scream ringing in his ears. Several deep breaths were required before he could grab hold of senses. He trembled despite the warmth. Another night of rest lost to a nightmare. He pulled his legs to chest and rested head on knees. He rocked back and forth the way he used to when he was a boy and some dark fear tore him from sleep. Without fail Duro would crawl into bed beside him and remained there until Agron found sleep again. Everyone had always thought Agron the stronger brother, what would they think if they saw him now trembling and weeping like a child? After several long moments he hoisted himself onto the ground, he cared little for these Romen beds, they were too soft by far and they were lifted up in the most peculiar way. He wondered vaguely about the previous owner of the bed he now called his, had his sword been the one that ended the little Roman shit's life? He hoped so. The thought cheered him only a little and he hoped perhaps some fresh air would mend tattered nerves. He donned his clothes and went outside. Warm night was broken by a gentle breeze and all was cloaked in silence. He nodded to the man standing guard as he passed through the gates. A large clearing stretched forth from the Villa. The breeze sent ripples across the tall grass to crash against a figure standing in the middle of the field like waves against the shore. Nasir did not look up as he approached. The pale moonlight cast his face in shadow, but Agron could clearly make out the slave's collar he held in his hands.

"I have never seen a slave morne his freedom so thoroughly." Agron said. Nasir did not move, nor make reply. After a few long moments Agron began to wonder if he should leave.

"My mother died giving me life," Nasir said so softly that at first Agron mistook voice for the whisper of wind against distant trees, "My father died when I was a small boy. My brother was little more than a boy himself, he struggled just to feed me and keep me clothed. We slept under bridges and took our drinking water from gutters. Since I have been made a slave I have not know hunger, nor cold, nor fear. Whatever my Master demanded in return for such favors, I gave him willingly."

"And what if you had not been so willing to give service?" Agron asked, "What then?"

"It is better to give such a thing than to have it taken, is it not? I even came to enjoy it, after a time." Nasir sighed and looked up at the stars, "Now I feel like a bird that has lived its life in a gilded cage, the door has been opened and yet I am afraid to fly."

"Fear can cripple worse than the sharpest blade," Agron said as he moved closer and placed his hand on Nasir's shoulder, "There is every choice in the world at your feet, do not turn from it in favor of warm memories of gilded cage."

Nasir had to look up to meet Agron's eyes, defiance burned in them, indeed he hardly ever saw the man with any other look about him. How had he been so meek a slave when he seemed willfulness made flesh? Surprisingly he did not move from Agron's touch.

"And what do you know of fear?" He asked.

Agron's hand dropped from Nasir's shoulder and he swallowed hard fixing his gaze on the distance. He could almost see Duro's death played before him again.

"Just because a man does not show fear, does not mean it cannot cut him to his soul." He replied.

"Apologies," Nasir said, "I..."

He did not get to finish his words. Agron caught glimpse of something moving amongst the trees, when the crimson cloaks came clear he threw himself forward bringing both himself and Nasir to the ground. Dark eyes went round with shock and Agron had to throw a hand over his mouth to keep him from crying out.

"Romans," he whispered. Nasir nodded understanding, Agron shifted to lay in the grass beside him. The tall blades completely obscured them as footsteps approached. Above him a shadow blocked out the light of the moon and a sandaled foot came to rest mere inches from his face. He flexed his hand thinking of his sword left in the Villa beside his bed. He wished he had gotten a more thorough count of their numbers before going to ground. Nasir's warm body pressed against his was so still he wondered if the man even drew breath.

"This is the Villa they entered?" a voice asked.

"Yes Sir, they left me outside," another voice answered, "There was an... unfortunate understanding between the Domius and my father. The Lieutenant did not wish to make a more uncomfortable situation then it need be."

"How long did you wait before seeking aid?"

"Near three hours, Sir."

"What are we waiting for? If the rebels are in there let us go put an end to them."

The rasping of a sword leaving its sheath was like thunder above him. He slowly turned his head and to look at Nasir. Brown eyes looked warily up at the man that stood above them, but he was still and calm. Was this not the same man that moments ago was accusing _him_ of knowing nothing of fear?

"No, there is no way of knowing their numbers. We cannot squander the element of surprise on an attack absent thought. We shall gather more men and make out plans."

Agron turned his face upwards, the Roman soldier who had bared his blade sheathed it again and turned as if to leave. A single strangled cry escaped the man's throat as Agron grabbed hold of ankle and pulled, he wrested the sword from hand as the man fell and rolled forward cutting the legs out from under a second Roman. He sprung to his feet to see only four Romans remained. In a matter seconds they were on the ground, dead or dying. Nasir straddled the Roman who had spotted them, hands around his neck. Feet pounded against the ground as the soldier struggled, only when they stopped did Nasir stand. "You are hurt." He said rushing forward. Agron had not notice the jagged cut across his ribs. Nimble fingers gently prodded the wound, it was long and deep but he had taken worse. Still he let Nasir continue inspection, something about his touch was as soothing balm to the sting and the way the Syrian's brow furrowed as he worked made Agron feel... compliant.

"You need the attention of the medicus." Nasir said.

"It is but a scratch." Agron replied.

"Are all Gladiators so immune to injury?" Nasir asked.

"That would depend on where you strike him." Agron replied ruefully.

"What happened here?!"

Agron jumped at the sudden sound, he cursed under his breath. How could allow himself to become distracted so? He looked up to see Spartacus before him, sword in hand and a look of stern concern upon his face.

"I could not sleep," Agron said, "You know how killing Romans soothes me."

Spartacus shoved his blade into its sheath and folded his arms in front of him. The corner of his lips quirked upwards ever so slightly, a gesture that was as good as outright laughter from any other man. Agron gave quick account of what had transpired.

"I wonder if someone will come searching for these men, knowing where they disappeared." Spartacus mused.

"Of that I doubt, the tactic is too clever for a Roman to imagine, excepting by happy accident." Agron snorted.

"An unhappy accident, I would deem it, for these Romans anyway." Spartacus said dryly.

"Accident?" Agron scoffed, "You speak as if they fell on their own swords. It is no easy task to kill six men unarmed, even Romans."

"Indeed," Spartacus said, raising an eyebrow, "And did the display impress sufficiently, I wonder?"

Spartacus' gaze flickered ever so briefly to Nasir before meeting Agron's again. Suddenly, Agron's face felt warm.

"I was not..."

"See yourself to the medicus," Spartacus jerked his head back towards the Villa, "You are unhurt, Nasir? Good, help me gather coin and weapons from these bodies..."

Spartacus turned his back to Agron leaving him no choice but to take his leave.


End file.
